Regret
by Sir Ravix of Fourhorn
Summary: At thy twilight, old thoughts return, in great waves of nostalgia. Sir Alonne faces this truth.


**Yes, I did name the Iron King after his home, I'm just lazy like that. Think of it like Konohamaru from Naruto.**

* * *

Sir Alonne was not a man who was prone to regret the choices he'd made. He held his honor, or whatever semblance of such a thing was possible in the times he had lived through, above nearly all else, including his own life. He'd gladly slice himself open if it meant retaining his honor.

This way of thinking, he found, had been challenged greatly as of late. To an outsider it may have seemed odd, perhaps borderline ridiculous really. His lord's power was at its peak, and showed little signs of slowing in growth to an untrained eye.

But an untrained eye Alonne was not. It helped of course that he was his lord's most trusted knight. The only person who was privy to as much as he was the pyromancer, Eygil. The pyromancer was not one that the knight trusted however, and he had made this known many times, even while in the man's company. Alonne did not think of himself as a judgmental man, far from it in fact, but that pyromancer rubbed him the wrong way.

Alken, his lord, also known as the Iron King to the common folk, had no such reservations. Whenever Alonne had brought them up they had been thoroughly shot down by the king. It infuriated him to no end that his lord had begun to listen to him less and less, but he made sure to keep his major concerns mostly quiet. The action was rather alien to him, as in the past his lord had no qualms over letting Alonne voice his concerns, no matter how brutally honest they could be, but with the king's sanity teetering into questionable territory as of late, he felt that it was best to hold his tongue.

Alken had slaughtered many with far less provocation, after all.

The depravity of his lord troubled him deeply. The undead hunts in the Copse were only the beginning, and he had been vehemently opposed to such a thing from the start. It disappointed Alonne that his lord would so easily fall to fear of the undead curse, the unknown.

Over time fear morphed into anger, and anger into unbridled rage. That dreadful colosseum was proof of this. Every day, countless times, the undead were subjected to the torture of the Chariot and the Executioner who commanded it. He could not imagine such a fate, being tortured and flattened only to be brought back to life to experience it all again. The Purgatory and the commanders of the hunts were no better.

' _To think, I once considered him worthy of the magnificent soul he was blessed with...'_ The soul Alken held was more powerful than any he had ever seen, miles ahead of his own. It had initially been one of the main reasons he had pledged his service to the then mostly unknown lord. Now, it seemed to be wasted with him. He had never attempted to use its power for the good of his kingdom, only himself. If there was anything that could help them unravel the curse wreaking havoc across the expansive kingdom of Iron, it was that ancient soul.

Sighing to himself, he stood from the throne that had long ago belonged to the old ruler of Venn. His sword, one of his only real companions, rested against the wall in its sheath. He hefted the deceptively light blade from its resting place and stepped outside, the rays of the setting sun nearly blinding him for a moment. His armor clanked and rustled as he walked, settling when he sat cross legged on the floor.

Alonne removed his blade from its sheath, merely staring into the shining metal as if searching for answers within the weapon. His reflection stared back, and for the first time in his lengthy life, he felt regret for his actions. His king had all but destroyed his own kingdom, causing widespread suffering and anguish to an extent that Alonne would have not been able to fathom before.

Even if it was a tad irrational, he blamed himself almost as much as his old friend. If he hadn't pledged his service, as well as the service of his knights, much of the current suffering might have been avoided. Alonne was no fool, he knew that even if Venn was still Venn and Alken had never become the Iron King, there would still be suffering. The curse would still have likely broken out, and fear would no doubt cause unspeakable atrocities as they had now.

The difference was that in that scenario, he would have had nothing to do with it, and his honor would likely still be intact. As it was, he felt nothing but shame and regret for all that he had done.

Regret... the feeling made him sick. It gnawed at him constantly, consuming his thoughts more and more with each atrocity his old friend committed.

* * *

Alonne remained in that position for what felt like hours, but was in reality only minutes, before he heard noises outside. A cacophony of steel clashing over and over, coupled with the deafening explosions of the fire the lizards spewed forth.

In the past, he would have jumped at the opportunity for a fight, but now he merely listened as the sounds grew ever closer to him, still staring at the metal of his blade in the brilliant light of the setting sun.

The sound of boots against the highly polished floor caused Alonne to turn his gaze upward. A man, tall and lithe, wearing armor eerily reminiscent of his own knights, heaved a sigh.

"I don't suppose we could settle this rationally?" Alonne chuckled at the stranger's question, despite himself.

"I'm afraid not." If there was one thing he would take with him to the grave, it was his love for battle, and his desire to die honorably to a worthy opponent.

"A shame." With another sigh the stranger readied his weapon, what looked to be a rapier, though it was longer than most rapiers Alonne had seen and held a far sharper edge than many similar weapons. Alonne reciprocated the gesture, standing to his full intimidating height and gripping his sword in both hands. A thought crossed his mind before he charged however. He lowered his blade to his side, and raised a hand in a halting gesture.

"Changed your mind?" The knight shook his head, a ghost of a smirk hidden by his helmet.

"Nay, but I ask that you humor me, stranger." The stranger merely shrugged. Nodding, Alonne put one foot forward, making the other man tense momentarily until he bowed his head in a show of respect. Rather perplexed but not completely dumfounded, he returned the gesture.

"Thank you, it has been quite some time since I last had an honorable duel. Now, prepare yourself!"

The challenger was sure that the only reason he had been able to avoid being cleaved in twain by the massive blade of his foe was due to his experience in Drangleic. Had he been any other man there was no doubt in his mind that he would have been rather painfully sent back to the bonfire.

Alonne was a damn agile one, he'd give him that. The towering eastern knight wasted no time, transitioning into a two hit combo that the challenger narrowly dodged before stepping back and lunging with speed far greater than he had anticipated.

Desperately scrambling to create distance between him and the evidently very deadly knight, he pondered on whether or not he should use his estus. On one hand, it kept him alive, healing all wounds in a matter of mere moments. On the other, his foe had made it clear that he wished for an honorable duel between warriors. With that in mind, he decided against it for the moment.

* * *

Alonne staggered back from a particularly nasty slice of his challenger's sword, his armor filled with holes and gashes from the tense fight. Holding a hand to the wound, he was astonished at the amount of blood that seeped out in waves, staining his hand a gruesome crimson.

His opponent had also seen better days. A gaping hole had been opened in his chest armor from a powered up stab from Alonne, though no blood seeped from the wound even if the eastern knight could see right through the wound. His right arm, thankfully his less dominant one, lay limp at his side, broken and useless from a desperate attempt at blocking an overhead slice from Alonne's gigantic blade. If Alonne hadn't been using the blunt edge of his blade, it would certainly have been cut off.

Beneath his helmet, the knight smiled with a trace of melancholy. He had lost far too much blood. Even if he managed to defeat his challenger he would still bleed out before long. His life flashing before his eyes, a particular memory sprung forth unbidden.

* * *

 _A much younger Alonne, dressed in training clothes, bowed respectfully to his sparring partner, none other than Alken. The young adult scowled for a moment but graciously accepted the hand that was offered._

 _"How many does that make now, Alonne?" There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, understandable given the circumstances, but it was clear that he held no resentment for the slightly older man._

 _"Truthfully sire, I stopped counting ages ago." He joked, earning a punch to the arm for the playful jab._

 _"Very funny, you could easily be mistaken for a court jester rather than a knight with that attitude." Alonne raised an eyebrow._

 _"Sire, I should think it reflects poorly on a king for his jester to be more skilled in combat than he." Alken struggled to come up with a comeback but ultimately ended up imitating a fish, opening his mouth and closing it a few times before he grumbled under his breath.  
_

 _"You win this round, but not the war."_

 _"I eagerly await our next battles then, sire" Alken smirked, depositing the rather odd (to him) curved blade that Alonne had referred to as a "katana" on a nearby rack, the other man doing the same. They collectively decided that rest was in order, slumping against the wooden walls of the training area. Many minutes were spent in comfortable silence, until Alken was struck with a bout of curiousity._

 _"Alonne, I've been wondering..." A raised eyebrow was his queue to continue. "Why did you choose to serve me? I am a mostly unknown and unestablished lord, and with your skills you could easily climb the ranks of a more well off lord." Alonne feigned consideration, even though he already had an answer to the question._

 _"Forgive me for being blunt, but many of the other lords I have seen have been found wanting in terms of qualities I seek in a proper lord. While you also lack some of said traits..." Alken winced at that, but knew that he had no malice in his tone. "I see great potential in you, Alken. Whether or not you are well off or well known means little to me right now. I am not so shallow as to judge people over such things. Despite being unknown, I see that you care for your kingdom, and would lay down your life for it if need be. That is why I chose to serve you, sire. Forgive me if my answer seems dull."_

 _"Not at all my friend. I thank you, truly. I was merely struck with curiosity." Alonne accepted the answer with a nod._

* * *

Alonne hadn't wanted to snap out of the memory of better times, but reality was a cruel mistress. The blood from his wounds seemed to flow faster as the seconds ticked by. He held up a blood soaked hand, just as he had earlier in the fight.

"Stranger, I concede. Before I die, I wish to know the name of the one who bested me in battle." The stranger returned his blade to his side. Alonne made no such motion, but from his body language it was clear that he was in no shape to capitalize.

"Einhard. I'm afraid I cannot remember my homeland. And what is your name, sir knight? You were a worthy foe." Alonne smiled under his helmet.

"Alonne. I thank you, Einhard, for allowing me the honor of a death in battle." The knight from the east raised his blade shakily with both hands, though Einhard was not alert due to the fact that the blade was pointed towards its owner.

With what little strength he could still muster, which was still considerable given his overall strength, Alonne shoved the blade through his abdomen, blood spewing violently from the wound when he pulled the blade back out.

The defeated knight collapsed onto his back, a final memory coming to mind as his vision began to dim.

* * *

 _"Honestly Alonne, I haven't the faintest idea of how you can drink that." Alken spoke, a mug of dark ale in his hands. Alonne shrugged, taking another swig of a drink he had called "Sake" from a saucer-like cup. The two were seated across from one another, sitting cross legged on their own cushions._

 _"I could say the same to you. That swill you call a drink is not suited for a future king, you know." He jested. Now it was Alken's turn to shrug._

 _"The day I act like a proper king is the day I ask you to put me out of my, and likely your, misery."_

 _"I wouldn't have it any other way, my friend." Alken once again considered himself to be beyond lucky to have such a knight in his service. It was a nice change from the overly stuffy and arrogant lords and knights of his home. After a few moments of comfortable silence, the younger man cleared his throat._

 _"Well Sir Alonne, I feel that a toast is in order." Alonne grinned._

 _"And what shall we toast to, Lord Alken?" He took a moment to think, snapping his fingers when he thought of something._

 _"Well, we both above all wish to live and die without regret. A more appropriate toast there will never be." Alonne nodded and raised his odd dish, Alken doing the same with his mug._

 _"To no regrets!" Alonne bellowed cheerfully._

 _"To no regrets!" Alken cheered, clinking his mug against Alonne's odd dish. With no further delay, the men downed their respective drinks, laughing all the while._

* * *

Despite the circumstances, Alonne died with a smile on his face, his body slowly fading away into nothingness as his soul entered the collection of the Bearer of the Curse. Einhard bowed his head in respect to the fallen warrior, vowing to put his soul to use in some way. He felt that the knight would have enjoyed that, if nothing else.

And so he sat in the humble throne from a bygone era, feeling the power of the ashen mist heart fade until he found himself back at the bonfire near what he now knew to be Alonne's armor.

Envisioning his destination, he left Brume Tower with a purpose in mind.


End file.
